T.A. (Biker Bitches 6)

Dalton helped her out. “That’s mine.”

“Relax, Shade, Lily knew because she helped me pack my suitcase.” Killy reached for a patch that had at one time been on the leather jacket but had been torn off during the movie. “Make sure you don’t forget that. I’m going to sew it on mine, right over my heart.”

“Then take a good look at it, Dalton. It’ll be the last time you ever see it,” T.A. joked, returning to her recliner.

“No, it won’t. I’m going to text him a picture of me wearing it on my vest,” Killy blithely denied.

T.A. grew silent fading in the background when Sex Piston and Killyama were together. Curling her legs comfortably under her, putting an elbow on the arm of the recliner, she rested her cheek on the palm of her hand. She had been a people watcher since she was a young girl, observing how they reacted to situations and to each other. Her father had once told her she was a people pleaser and to never change, while all her friends told her the exact opposite. In her early thirties, she still didn’t have a clue who to listen to. Usually, she went the middle of the road; except with men. Sex Piston and her friends told her she was a sucker where they were concerned, but T.A. still truly wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt when they did things that hurt her, until it became so obvious any indecision was made for her. Like when Bear had tried to kill Lucky. And once, she would have been seriously hurt if Killyama hadn’t been watching out for her.

“I thought you were supposed to be here an hour ago?” Killyama complained.

“I screwed up okay? I waited to buy my turkey. Now the big ones are gone. I thought I could buy one in the store here, but I should have known they were already gone.” Lily flushed, moving closer to Shade at Sex Piston’s calculating glare.

“I can’t give you one of ours. They’re all spoken for.”

“We’ll talk later.” Sex Piston opened her purse, taking out two small books. “Sign those while you’re at it. Dax, you sign them too. You might be famous one day.”

That Dax wasn’t insulted signing the autograph books without protest showed T.A. that Dalton had raised a fine son. She didn’t think any other director of Dax’s prestige would have.

“Don’t forget the sweet potato casserole, or I’m not coming,” Killyama said, watching as Kaden and Dalton signed each item.

“Haven’t I always taken care of you? I’ll make a small one for you to take home.”

“Is it good?” Dax asked. “I’ve heard about them but never tasted one.”

“Then you’ve been missing out,” Sex Piston said, taking the books back. “What do you eat for Thanksgiving?”

“We’re usually in France the month before Christmas, and they don’t celebrate Thanksgiving. Mom would make us a big dinner that day, but she didn’t make sweet potato casserole.”

“Then you’re missing out. I can give Grace my recipes.”

Dax shook his head. “Thanks, but we’re not spending Thanksgiving with Grace. We’re shooting a scene the day before and won’t finish until late. We’ll probably just order takeout.”

Sex Piston tilted her head to the side. “It’s not a long flight from St. Louis to Jamestown. You and Dax could come down and both spend the night at my parents’ house. We eat early. You’d be back in St. Louis by five or six.”

“We couldn’t intrude,” Dalton started to say, but his son interrupted him quickly.

“How big of a turkey do you need?”

“A twenty-five pounder, or bigger. Stud likes to make sandwiches with the leftovers.”

“If you’re sure, Dad and I would love to accept. I’ve always wanted a traditional Thanksgiving dinner with the fixins. I’ll make sure you have your turkey in plenty of time.”

The whole room broke into laughter at the way he used the Kentucky accent when he said “fixins.”

“I’m sure. I’ll make you enough ‘fixins’ to gain five pounds.”

Dax looked toward his father. “Dad?”

T.A. couldn’t decipher whether Dalton was angry or unhappy at being put on the spot in front of everyone.

“Sex Piston, Dax and I would like to accept your invitation.”

“Hot damn! I’ve got to call Ma and tell her who’s coming for dinner. By the way, is there any chance you could send a ham with that big turkey?”

11

Dalton picked up the second largest item from the pile he had been given to sign, trying to keep his attention averted from T.A. Guilt was riding him hard that he couldn’t keep his eyes off her anytime she was near. Her light blue-green eyes drew him to her like a magnet. The latent warmth tugged at him like thin, invisible strings that at first hadn’t been strong enough to move him, but each time he was around her, the attraction was growing, until he felt as if he was battling a cord made of steel.